His eyes were watery and looked far away from behind round glasses. He had black neatly combed hair with a side parting. The only distinguishing feature about him that I could see was that he plucked his unibrow. His eyebrows were thick worms above each eye.
His face was white and he had very little stubble. He reminded me of an accountant or a nerdy scientist. He walked up to me and nodded, or rather tipped his head forwards and then backwards as if to nod more vigorously would send his hair tumbling to the floor. He offered a soft hand, which I shook thinking he'd performed a quick sleight of hand offering me instead his wet, warm handkerchief. Instinctively I wiped my hand against my trouser leg afterwards.
I offered him a seat and he took the one Gary had been in, leaving one between the two of us. He sat bolt upright, like a man who had a steel pole in place of a spine. He sat at forty five degrees towards me, his legs close together as if he were a modest woman, and his lady hands were in his lap, the right over top the left, looking like a shy turtle.
"Milo Ellis, right?" I asked.
He nodded. The same small nod that he had offered earlier. I got to thinking maybe he had a crick in his neck that stopped him from bending it any lower.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
I had a sense I had to start this engine nice and slow like it was my LeSabre I had left outside over night in a Fargo blizzard.
"I've heard you're here about Paul."
"That's right," I said, nodding at him more vigorously, showing him how it could be done. "How well did you know him?"
"I knew him well enough, but we weren't close," he said.
"Like him, you're a violinist."
More careful nodding of the head.
"And yet you weren't very close?"
"That's right."
"Why is that?"
"I'm here to practice and perform. I prefer not to mix work and pleasure."
"So you've never gone out with the group after a performance? You've never gone over to Paul's or anyone else's apartment?"
"That's correct."
I tried to keep my poker face, but it was hard to take this guy seriously. I mean who had never gone over to a colleague's place or had drinks after work? I couldn't think of one person. Yet with Milo sitting in front of me, I believed him.
"Alright then," I said. "From your observations, how would you describe Paul to someone like me?"
Milo looked over at the stage. Gary had joined the larger group that included Lauren and Rosanna. He was hugging Rosanna as Lauren looked on, none too pleased.
"Paul was enigmatic," said Milo.
"That's a mild way of putting it."
"As I said, I didn't really spend much time interacting with anyone here other than during rehearsals and performance. I like to eat my lunch alone and spend breaks practicing a piece or reading."
I wondered if he liked long walks on the beach and moonlight dinners by himself. I was pretty certain he probably lived with his mother.
"Did you know about his relationships with other musicians in the orchestra?"
"It would be hard not to know about that."
"Do you have any opinions about it?"
"No. I prefer not to put my nose in other people's business. If it's between two consenting adults then it really doesn't concern me."
Calling him a shrinking violet was putting it mildly. Milo was more like a ghostly eunuch or robot that was programmed to do nothing more than perform one task and that was all. I couldn't fathom a more boring person in my life. In fact, I figured staring at concrete was more inspirational.
"What about his relationship with Stephanie, the woman he got pregnant? Do you have any thoughts about any of that?"
"Not particularly. It was in character with how Paul was. But as I said, what two consenting adults choose to do is none of my concern."
"None of your concern, or you just don't give a shit?" I asked. My patience was wearing thin like the laddered stockings on a cheap whore.
The corners of Milo's mouth turned upwards. It could have been a smirk or maybe it was just a nervous twitch.
"I do, as you say, give a shit. But people's private lives aren't really something I care about. I feel sorry that Stephanie got herself into the situation she did. But she did it without pressure. I'm sorry that Paul got murdered, but it's not a real surprise."
"Now we're getting somewhere. What do you mean it's not a surprise."
The only thing that seemed to move on Milo's body was his head. It swiveled as if it were on a well oiled rod. He might have been sitting on a ventriloquist's lap. He reminded me of a puppet.
"You've likely heard all sorts of sordid details about Paul, most of which I'm sure are true. He was undisciplined and chaotic, if I can be unkind. It wouldn't take a seer to realize he was on a self destructive path."
"So you knew about his womanizing, his drugs, and his propensity for aberrant behavior and yet none of this bothers you, when it clearly bothers most of your colleagues?"
"It bothered me, don't get me wrong, Mr. Carrick. But it was not my place to change it. Frank and Sonia assured me they would take care of it."
"So you did speak to them about Paul's behavior?"
"I did. Only in so far as it was affecting the quality of the orchestra overall. Paul was a fine musician when he was sober. But that seemed to becoming a rarer and rarer event."
"Did you and he ever share any conversations? Do you have any insight into why he had become more erratic as some say he had in the last few weeks?"
"No, we didn't really talk much. Not outside of the music and performance subjects. I do agree though, that the last few weeks he did seem more odd."
"And you have no idea why?"
"I have an opinion."
"That's good," I said, "I'd love to hear it."
"I think that the chaos was catching up with him. He had recent altercations with Lauren's and then Rosanna's husbands. From what I heard he was also concerned about being followed. But whether that was part of his paranoia or real I can't say."
"So if I asked you who you think would have killed him, who would you finger?"
"That's an accusation I wouldn't like to make without very strong evidence. And I haven't seen any strong evidence yet."
"Indulge me, please," I said.
"Well, I can only think of those who might have been upset with him. That would include Lauren and her husband, Rosanna and her husband, Stephanie and one of the previous violinists, John Stampley."
"I thought Lauren and Rosanna were quite happy with him."
"I don't think so. They both seemed smitten with him, and neither one really likes the other. Now whether that's enough for murder I can't say. I'm just indulging you."
"How kind."
Milo smiled the fakest smile I'd seen the whole year. And I'd spent a lot of time around pimps, drug addicts and prostitutes.
"Are you, or were you, close to anyone here?"
"Not particularly."
"Do you have anything you might add to the discussion about Stephanie?"
I felt like a man dying of thirst trying to pump a dry well with a rusty handle. The effort was killing me.
"I know she was, how do I say this delicately, let go. But you probably already know that."
"What I know isn't as important as the flavor you might add to what I know. What do you know about that?"
"Rumors and speculations really. I don't make it my business to put my nose in other people's business, like I said before."
"Listen, Milo," I said, not unkindly, "in my business rumors and speculations are like treasure maps that get me to the crux of why bad things happen to people, whether they're good or bad. I don't care if you speak ill of the dead. I'm not here to judge your integrity. I'm just trying to find out why Paul was killed and who might have done it. Any morsel, any crumb, however irrelevant you might think, might get me closer to that goal."
"Fine," he said. "I heard that Paul got upset when he found out Ste
phanie was pregnant. The last thing he wanted was marriage, or worse than that, a child. Apparently he used up a lot of favor with Frank and Sonia in making sure they got rid of her. It was either her or him, is what I heard. So they got rid of her, paid for her abortion and gave her a large sum of money to be quiet."
"How large?"
"I heard it was half a million dollars. But like I said, this is all second hand information."
I wondered if it was a quarter mil or half a mil. Not that it made much of a difference, but when the details are not congruent oftentimes the big picture isn't.
"How did Stephanie take this?"
"Not well at all. I saw her leaving after meeting with Frank and Sonia late one afternoon and she was in tears. I asked her if she was okay."
Milo stopped and looked down at his turtled hands. His back stuffed full of iron pipe. Rigid. He made me feel uncomfortable just looking at him.
"What did she say?"
"She ran off. Told me she hated me and everyone to do with the orchestra. Thing is, I hardly knew her. I'd only said hello to her now and then in passing. This is why I prefer not to put my nose in people's business."
I nodded sympathetically.
"What happened to her after that do you know?"
"I don't. Some said she went back to the Midwest. I think she was from Muncie, Indiana if I remember correctly. Though I wouldn't put money on it. I also heard she was here, living in the Bronx someplace."
"So nobody knows what happened to her?"
"I wouldn't say nobody. I'm sure Frank or Sonia have probably still kept tabs on her whereabouts to make sure she doesn't misbehave."
"And Paul, did he have any remorse about what happened to her?"
Milo tossed his head back slightly and humphed.
"That's funny," he said. "I've never seen Paul show remorse or even admit to a mistake. No, he seemed in much better spirits after that."
"And when was this?"
"About a year ago."
"And these men that were apparently following him. What do you make of that?"
Milo looked at me with his watery eyes that seemed drowned in years and layers of disappointment. Though I might have been reading too much into them.
"Nobody ever saw these apparitions, and I certainly didn't. If you ask me, I'd say it was probably part of his paranoia or an attempt to create more focus on himself. There always had to be something going on with Paul. He always had to be the center of attention."
"I've also heard that his good graces were coming to an end with Frank and Sonia. Do you know anything about that?"
"Not as much as you. But I did hear that he was on his last legs as far as they were concerned. Especially Sonia. You see, Paul had used, how do I say this, his great charm and youthful vigor in the early years he was here. Sonia greatly admired that and I think it gave him a great advantage. But in the last decade or so, Paul had started to look the gift horse in the mouth if you know what I mean, and I don't think he liked what he saw. He had become on many occasions, and especially behind her back, quite insulting towards Sonia. The only thing surprising about this is how long he got away with his poor behavior."
"It sounds like you didn't care for him very much," I said.
Milo swiveled his head from left to right on the carefully oiled rod that was his spine and neck.
"No, not particularly. In fact, I didn't mind him at all. I had no qualms with him. You see, Paul was quite pleasant. Especially if he didn't feel threatened by you. But that doesn't mean I couldn't tell he was a wolf in sheep's clothing."
"What about John Stampley?"
"I arrived just at the changing of the guard. I believe Paul had been with the Philharmonic a year by then. I was hired on as a second violin as Paul was transferred into the first violin section. It all came as quite a shock to me. John was very upset. In fact, I remember him telling me that he hoped I was happy being an agent of his demise. Of course he was quite sarcastic about it. I didn't understand what he meant at first."
"But you soon found out?"
"Yes. Frank had fired John just so he could move Paul into the first violins. As you can imagine, I benefited by taking up Paul's then vacant seat as a second violin."
"So John was angry?"
"He was livid. The last I heard of him was when he made a scene during practice on his last day. He said he'd make sure that Frank and Paul paid for their deceit and disloyalty if it was the last thing he did."
"Could it not have been just sour grapes? Perhaps John wasn't performing up to snuff?"
Milo smiled at me, and shook his head slowly.
"No, everybody at the time said that John was one of the best violinists in the orchestra then. Under the previous conductor, I forget his name…"
"Douglas Goodell," I offered.
"Yes, that's right. Under Douglas, rumor had it that John was next up in line for the concertmaster position. He was in his early fifties at that point. That was about twenty years ago."
"What happened to him?"
Milo shrugged, as carefully as he did anything. Just the tops of his shoulders moved. Up and then down. I was beginning to believe he might not really be human.
"I'm not sure. I heard that he went on to offer violin lessons. But that was a long time ago. He could be retired by now."
"I heard something about Paul and his violin and John Stampley. There's a relationship there I think."
Milo looked at me and frowned.
"I don't think so," he said. "Paul had a Strad, a very valuable one that he used on special occasions. It sounded amazing. Such warm and thick tones. And the workmanship on it was astonishing. Really fine detail on the pegs, scroll and tailpiece. He bragged that he had it insured for ten million. Now I don't know if it was worth that much, though it could be because a seventeen twenty-one Strad called the Lady Blunt sold for almost ten million pounds not long ago."
I smiled.
"Never would I have suspected a piece of wood would sell for that much," I said.
"That's only because you don't have an appreciation for violins. There are only a few hundred Strads still around and far less in as good a shape as Paul's Blount Strad. Rare things generally become valuable."
"Yes, I suppose they do. How did he keep the violin safe?" I asked.
"He usually kept it under lock and key in the basement. There's a safe there that only a few people have access to. But lately he'd just been keeping it with him at all times."
"That doesn't seem particularly safe," I said.
"Well, yes and no. Just as you suggested earlier, not many people realize a piece of wood, as you said, could be worth that much. I mean a homeless guy playing fiddle down in SoHo could be using a million dollar Strad and who'd know? The only ones who'd know the value of Paul's violin were his fellow musicians like us, and collectors and connoisseurs. But you're right in a way, he should have kept it under lock and key, especially if he was so concerned about being followed."
"And yet he didn't."
"That's right. Though personally, I don't think his violin has anything to do with his death."
"You say that like it's a fact. And yet I've heard an interesting story that it was maybe stolen by his grandfather from a woman during the Second World War."
"I wouldn't know about that," said Milo, "but I wouldn't be surprised if that was greatly embellished. Adding a story like that to his violin, Paul probably thought it would make it more valuable."
"So you think that John Stampley looking into Paul's background and finding out that the violin was stolen and threatening to tell everyone if Paul didn't back down from his first violin position is not true?"
"I'm not saying that John wasn't looking for an angle to ruin Paul. I just think that Paul made up that story."
"Not according to Gary."
"And you're going to believe a coke head?"
"Why not?"
"Because he and Paul were thick as thieves. I think Gary's in on it."
I w
as just about finished with Milo when two detectives walked into Avery Fisher Hall. You could tell they were cops by the way they looked. The one guy was fat and his tie didn't reach his belt. He had a graying mustache and khaki pants. The other guy was slim with blue pants and blue shirt with a blue tie. He was clean shaven with brown hair.
The other thing that gave them away might have been their badges clipped to the front of their belts and their guns on their side. Neither of them wore a jacket.
NINE
Chapter 9
THE two detectives walked right past us and up to the stage. I got up and told Milo we should go and have a listen. So we joined the group as they all jostled around the detectives. I stood next to Frank.
"I'm Detective Cooper," said the fat one, "and this is Detective Simms. You probably know why we're here. We'd appreciate your cooperation as we investigate your colleague's death."
Cooper had to take a pause to catch his breath. He fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his brow which was blistering sweat. His underarm was stained wet. I could smell his cheap musky cologne over his stench, much like rotten meat.
His colleague seemed cooler and more collected. Simms had his hands in his pockets and he carefully studied everyone in the group as he looked around slowly.
"I'm Frank Moody," said Frank, offering his hand to Cooper who was nearest us, "I'm the musical director and I'll be happy to do whatever we can to help."
Cooper shook his hand and nodded.
"We'll need to interview everyone. Shouldn't take long. Hopefully we can get you home in time for dinner. Those of you who eat late."
"Can you tell us what happened?" I asked, throwing my line in the shallow waters.
"Who're you?" asked Cooper.
"I'm the hired investigator who was brought on to look into this," I said, smiling like we were old pals.
Cooper wasn't having any of it.
"I don't think so. This is an ongoing investigation. We don't need your help," said Cooper. "Though what you can do is hand over any notes you already have."
Cooper put a big, soft meaty paw out towards me.
"I don't think so," I said.
Cooper frowned his face and he looked like a hairless bulldog only less friendly.
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 36
